


Two parties and a windowsill

by SharpestRose



Category: Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-30
Updated: 2011-06-30
Packaged: 2017-10-20 21:47:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/217413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SharpestRose/pseuds/SharpestRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's like growing up, only stupider.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two parties and a windowsill

Once upon a time, it went like this: if, at a party, or function, or formal gathering, the crowds were mingling in such a fashion that Mr Bruce Wayne and Ms Veronica Thomas would soon run into one another, a mutter would be heard from some nearby vantage point.

"Action time," one boy, or the other, would say, and then they would both move quickly toward their respective parent. Once there, measures would be taken to steer them in new, and safer, directions.

"It's like _The Parent Trap_ , only stupider," Tim sometimes remarked.

"It's like Montagues and Capulets, only stupider," Justin would reply, at which point Tim would tell him off for the reminder of school.

Bruce and Veronica had once romanced happily and broken badly, now their courtesy was strained and awkward.

Tim and Justin had been friends. Now, Justin isn't sure what they are.

-

Now, it goes like this: Tim lives in Bludhaven with his foster brother, Dick, and doesn't come to Gotham very often. On the rare occasions that the elusive Wayne boys attend parties in their former city, Tim keep to the walls and to himself. Watching everyone like they're a species he has a passing scientific interest in.

If it's a garden party, Tim will wear dark glasses or squint against the sunlight. Justin will offer whatever baseball cap he's wearing, and sometimes Tim will take it with a smile and a "thanks, Justin. 'Preciate it". So Justin guesses that they're still friends, even if they don't talk or laugh much anymore.

Today it's a garden party, and Tim is wearing Justin's Gotham Knights cap and watching as Dick makes an attempt at small talk with Bruce's girlfriend Barbara over near the pagoda. Justin can't really tell from this distance, but it doesn't look like the conversation's going well.

"You guys like my hat?" Jenna Talbot, of the Metropolis Talbots, asks them, not bothering to say hello first. "It's from Milan. Or Paris. I forget."

Tim smirks. There's something harder about the expression now than there used to be, and Justin finds that he wants to look away from it.

"You know you're turning into your mother, right?" Tim asks Jenna. She tosses her head, causing the brim of her hat to flop in a way she probably thinks is rakish. Justin feels the urge to ask her what designer was responsible for this crime against headwear, but doubts the question would be appreciated.

"This is so _dull_ ," she proclaims, just in case they hadn't noticed.

"Cheer up. Maybe Poison Ivy will come along, outraged by the topiary," Justin says, nodding towards a tree shaped like a chicken.

"Oh, Justin, don't be stupid," sighs Jenna. "Anyone can defeat Poison Ivy. We need a big hitter, like the Joker, or Clayface, or _Two_ Face."

Tim looks down at his feet, the brim of Justin's hat shading most of his face from view. Justin can see the corner of Tim's mouth twitch into a frown.

With a clear of his throat, Justin says "Don't sell Poison Ivy short, Jenna. She turned my grandmother into a tree."

Jenna raises an eyebrow. "Your grandmother gave a speech at a charities seminar last week."

"Well, she got _better_."

"Yeah, Ivy got Alfred with that, too," agrees Tim, looking up again with a swift smile. "Maybe it's not British reserve at all. His stiff upper lip's made of white ash wood."

"Hey, yeah, maybe Grandma's hideous hats are just birds' nests."

Jenna turns away with a 'hmph'. "You're both weirdos."

She stalks away, hat brim bobbing with the movement.

"The girl wearing a floppy velvet mushroom on her head thinks that we're weirdos," Justin manages to say after a few seconds. "Think we should be offended?"

"I'm not sure," Tim admits. Then, quietly, he adds "Hey, do you wanna go get some fries or a burger or something? I don't really wanna hang around here much longer."

"Sure. The canapes aren't making my mouth water, either."

-

They go to a milk bar downtown, where the jukebox is broken and the coffee costs a dime.

"I love Gotham," Tim muses, balancing the salt shaker on the tip of one finger. "Sometimes I forget how much."

"Ever think about moving back?" Justin dunks half a french fry into the ketchup, watching the curls of steam rise.

Tim shakes his head. "Not really. Not any time soon. After college, maybe."

"Where're you thinking of going?"

Tim shrugs, adding the pepper shaker onto a second finger beside the salt. Justin waits for the clatter and spill, but it doesn't come.

After a minute, Tim says "Hudson, maybe. They've got a good engineering and communications program there."

"Yeah? I'm applying there too. Cinema studies and media theory. We might even end up in some of the same classes."

"Still hooked on old hero movies, huh?"

Justin shakes his head. "Mostly noir stuff, now. I dunno, this'll sound dumb, but... I think in genres sometimes. Like, at cocktail parties, I start seeing everything like it's all an Oscar Wilde story, all mannered and funny and quaint. And," he scratches his chin, looking at his plate. "I realised that I mostly liked the way noir movies saw the world. I want to study them, and what they say."

"Oscar Wilde wrote messed-up fairytales. Like he was against giving anyone a happy ending," Tim remarks, finally replacing the salt and pepper onto the tabletop. "Why would you wanna see the world like a noir movie, anyway? Aren't they all depressing and cynical? Doesn't sound like you at all."

"They're complicated and difficult, yeah. But the writers and directors and actors obviously believed in something, because otherwise why would they bother? Why go to all that trouble, unless they thought a world as dark and strange as that was still worth making art about?"

"I hope we don't have any classes together," Tim says with a smirk. "You'll make me feel dumb."

"How long're you in Gotham for?"

"Just another few days. Dick's gotta catch up with a bunch of people. You going to that costume thing tomorrow night?"

"The Vreeland party? Yeah, I guess."

-

When Justin gets home, he gets the blue plastic storage box down from the top shelf of his closet. The lid's covered in peeling, glue-sticky pictures, from toy packets and magazine pages. He traces over them with his fingertips, remembering studious afternoons spent on decoration.

His Gray Ghost costume is neatly folded in tissue paper. Justin's always believed that if something was worth caring about, it was worth looking after, and so all his childhood treasures are preserved in good condition.

The scrapbook of newspaper clippings is beginning to go yellow, and smells like fading ink.

The action figures look just like Justin remembers them, with Batman's left elbow a little worn with rust in the joint pin, and a paint chip making Robin's nose look permanently smudged. The second Robin, that is, with spiky hair and bright red tights.

Justin has the first Robin as well, of course, and continued to play with it long after the real team had switched to the new line up. Back then, he'd hated the idea that this, of all things, would change with time.

"Everyone's gotta grow up. Even Robins," he says to himself now, with a nostalgic smile. He wishes them the best, whoever they are. Whoever they've become; these days, there's no Robin at all. He hopes they've all got as much happiness in their lives as they gave to him when he was a kid.

Carefully, he packs the box away, putting the Gray Ghost costume aside for tomorrow night.

-

Jenna's done up as Supergirl; the Lawson triplets have come as three musketeers; Bruce Wayne and Barbara Gordon are the Phantom of the Opera and Christine.

Justin tries not to be too obvious as he examines and appraises each person's outfit. Some people haven't gone to any effort at all, and some have gone to too much and just look embarrassing.

Tim arrives two hours after the time specified on the invitations, dressed up as Robin.

Justin grins. He'll have to tell Tim that he was thinking about Robin just this afternoon. One of life's little synchronicities.

If Tim's smirk and gaze weren't so pointedly directed at them, Justin might not have noticed that Bruce has gone very still, and Barbara is almost the same shade as her sage-coloured opera cloak.

Justin's too far away to over-hear what they say to each other as Tim approaches, but he can tell from Tim's expression that he was banking on them being as shocked as they obviously are.

Since he can't hear, Justin devotes his attention to Tim's costume. The green tights are the right shade, but Tim's small for his age and can't really pull the look off. He'd've done better to wear the red, and to have gelled his hair up. Then, he'd look just like -

Oh.

Justin stands on the edge of the ballroom and looks at Bruce Wayne's strong jaw, and Barbara Gordon's red hair (which, until now, Justin had only noticed with the passing thought that his mom sure did fit Mr Wayne's type). They both look faintly nauseated as Tim - Robin - talks away like nothing's amiss.

Justin can't remember the last time he saw Tim speak to Bruce. It was before Tim moved to Bludhaven, Justin's sure of that much.

Not knowing what else to do, Justin goes home.

-

If he was asleep, the clatter of pebbles against his window would've been loud enough to wake him, and it's certainly enough to get his attention.

Tim's on one of the largest branches of the tree in the front garden, right opposite Justin's window. He's back in ordinary clothes.

"I'm more outta shape than I thought. This tree used to be a piece of cake," he says when Justin opens the window.

Leaning out over the sill, Justin shakes his head. "You know, I finally convinced myself that I'd imagined seeing Batman and his friends in that tree when I was a kid. Chalked it up to wishful thinking."

"Now you know better." Tim gives one of his lightning-flash smiles. "Is your mom home?"

"No, she's interstate for the week. Friend of hers is giving a paper at a conference. Wanted moral support."

"Okay if I come in, then?"

Justin gives a smile of his own. "You coming in by the window, or the door?"

"Well, the window's right here. I'd have to climb down again for the door."

Justin steps back, watching as Tim balances his way along a branch to the house. For a second, he wobbles dangerously, and Justin has to rush forward to offer a hand.

"Like Montagues and Capulets, only stupider," Justin mutters to himself.

"I figured you'd, y'know, figure it. When you left the party, I knew you must've." Tim sits down in Justin's desk chair. "Sorry if I've made you feel like you're in a bad episode of _The Twilight Zone_ or something."

"No such animal," Justin retorts, sitting down on the edge of his bed, still dressed in his Gray Ghost costume. "I guess you guys always have to do stuff the weird, creepy way, right?"

"Maybe."

"So. You were Robin." It sounds strange to say. Like there should be a backing soundtrack. Justin suspects he'll never quite shake the habit of thinking in movie terms.

Tim huffs a laugh. "I hate that the past tense doesn't even hurt anymore."

"What happened?"

Tim looks over at the window. "Ever hear of a guy named Dr Hugo Strange?"

"He could tape people's dreams onto video, right?"

"Something like that." Tim turns back to Justin. "Let's just say that I'd make a killing on the indie horror movie circuit if he ever tried getting in my head."

"But you're okay now, aren't you? I mean, you seem okay." Except for the way you always watch people, and never talk to anyone, and that your smiles are so different. "Is that why you don't speak to Bruce? Because he won't let you be Robin anymore?"

"You've got it backwards. _He_ doesn't talk to _me_. Can't even look at me."

"Dressing up like you did for the party tonight wasn't exactly taking the high road in the argument, you know."

"Hey, at least it got him to acknowledge I'm alive," Tim says, mouth a bitter curl. "Makes a nice change."

"I'm sorry, Tim."

"No, don't -" Tim pushes a hand back through his hair. "Don't be sorry, Justin. Just... I wanted you to know about all this, to know about Robin, because I don't have anyone who does anymore. Not who wants to know me."

"I'm sure that's not true," Justin says, because the alternative's too sad to contemplate.

Tim shrugs. "Me and Barb are okay, but it's obvious whose side she's on right now. And Dick's cool, you should meet him sometime, but he's... he's one of those people who make great moms, you know? Tough love and all of that stuff. And I don't really get along with anyone at my school."

"I'm not really known for being a beacon of popularity myself."

Tim smiles, and it's one of his old, easy, sharp grins. "Guess we'll be fine, then. Hey, wanna come see the view from your tree? It's pretty cool."

Without waiting for an answer, Tim gets up and clambers out the window. "C'mon."

"This is a bad idea," Justin warns, and climbs out after him.


End file.
